


i've been waiting all night for you

by jasminetea



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasminetea/pseuds/jasminetea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young boy, Charles once enjoyed his visits to the Dragon King Erik's hearth.  Now a young man, he isn't sure what he feels when he enters the hearth once again, this time as the Dragon King's bride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [slori](http://slori.livejournal.com)'s [prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21435109#t21435109), WIP thread [here](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/4172.html?thread=22534476#t22534476). (There's another great fic posted in the kink meme too!) This is a loose interpretation, with a milder take on heats that doesn't involve a frenzy and likens heats to menstruation. It was intended to have a Beauty and the Beast-ish vibe, with Erik and Charles getting married, Charles thinking Erik doesn't remember him, and Erik thinking Charles is uninterested, so cue pining/slow romance where they eat dinner every night and Erik kisses him goodnight. 
> 
> What I wrote instead was the set-up to all that. This fic takes you up to Charles returning to Erik as a young man and ends there.
> 
> This section was inspired by the opening of Robin McKinley's Deerskin. The fic's title is from the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gSXJVMU3OFk) by Rudimental and Ella Eyre.

"Your parents' love story was one for the ages," his tutor would tell Erik when he was young -- so young, his hoard was still a distant imagining to hold between his claws as he dreamt.

Erik's father had been an old dragon by many means when he married his very human, very mortal wife. So old, his hoard had filled not only his personal lair, but every room within his hall, every absent space full of old pages full of history. Books lay next to one another that contradicted one another, heroes became villains from one shelf to the next, passed into mythology upon the next floor: it was this tangled mess of mutability that Erik's mother was drawn into.

The exact nature of his parents' courtship was much speculated, but Azazel always liked his own version of events best, but Erik, in those days, would urge him past such events.

"Patience, princeling," Azazel would say, "is a trait best learned young, as your father proved. Now where was I -- ah, at the part where your mother beheld your father in his native skin for the first time ... "

Erik would imagine other things during this unfortunate, but unavoidable interruption, such as the next part of the tale.

"...but your father was an old dragon and had lived a full life. Your mother loved you very much, but she too had grown old and followed your father. And so the halls were swept of all the treasure your father had collected, and in the later years of his life, had collected with your mother, and left to rest with your parents. The halls are swept clean, and one day you will fill them with what you have chosen to, and perhaps -- " Here, Azazel would take Erik up in his forked tail and blow smoke into his eyes, "-- if you are lucky, you will find something you love even more that that."


	2. i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Charles was five, his parents took him to the Dragon King's hearth for the first time.

When Charles was five, his parents took him to the Dragon King's hearth for the first time. He did not understand the importance of the event, only that there was a crush of people milling about a home many times larger than his, and that each of these people knew things he does not. His parents tried to explain to him that these people were not here to answer his questions, and were here for other reasons, but Charles's curiosity was a creature grown much larger than his five years should have allowed for.

He was presented to the King who sat inside a chair much too large for him, in a room much too large for both chair and King. The King looked like any other man Charles had seen -- four limbs, ten fingers, no wings, no scales, smooth skin hidden beneath his beard.

"You don't look like a dragon," Charles said, his parents giving a large gasp. He gave them a curious look and then returned his attention to the king, whose crown laid across the center of his forehead.

"If I were to greet you in my native skin, I would fill up this whole room," the King said. Charles nodded, realizing that is why the chair and room were so large. "But then I could not walk among you and your family because I would be too large.

"Who is to say that a dragon is solely made of their tail, and scales, and large teeth? A dragon is more than such things. We look for other things that lie beneath the fragile shell of flesh: fiery sinews, lungs full of ash, and bones full of the earth's blood. Your parents have told me you like books, do you assume you know all of what a book is about before you have peered beneath its covers?"

Charles pondered this, and then shook his head.

The King nodded his head, and his parents took the opportunity to apologize for their son and depart.

* * *

Charles thought it odd that despite how much he had heard of the King's library, how much other people talked about it, he had yet to meet someone who had seen it with their own eyes. Finding this odd, and being unable to fall asleep, he slipped away from the children's room. Opening the great double doors, he looked down the hall to his right and then to his left, wondering which way the library could be.

Either Charles was very lucky, or fate itself intervened on his behalf, but he did indeed find the library. It was tucked away behind a very small, very plain metal door that he found only after opening several wrong doors that led to more hallways, kitchens, stairways, and bedrooms.

The library was a finely kept room, made entirely of stone and lit by dragonstone so its books would never risk being lost to fire. The room was quite large, the dragonstones revealing shelves and shelves of books as far as Charles could see. So taken was he that he did not notice the chair until his knees knocked it.

The chair was too large for Charles's legs to hang over, but it was the perfect size to tuck his knees to his side and open a book across his lap.

He tried pushing the chair against the shelf to reach the higher books, but was unable to move the great thing. Instead, he plucked a book from the alcove near his elbows and settled into the chair with _A Brief History of Roses Along the Northern Slope_.

* * *

Some time later, after he had begun _Orchids: A Love Affair_ , a voice spoke. "How do you find my library?"

Charles looked up and saw the King. "Hello," he said. "I like it very much. Why don't you let more people see it?"

"When something is special do you want to share it with everyone?"

"Yes," was Charles' hasty reply. The King's eyebrows furrowed and he looked at what Charles was reading.

"I am not sure if that novel is for one so young as yourself."

"That's what adults tell children when they don't want to share."

The King laughed, showing his many teeth. Charles could not help himself when he queried if being a dragon meant he had many teeth.

"I have no more teeth than you will in a handful of years when I wear this skin."

"But you have more when you're a dragon?" Charles persisted.

The King nodded, "But as I told you, I am a dragon now, even if I do not look it."

Picking up _Orchids: A Love Affair_ , Charles remarked, "I thought this book would be about how to breed orchids, but it's not about that at all. It was different on the inside than what the cover made me think it was about."

"I think when you are older, you will realize that book is about a different sort of breeding. Come now, it is time for you to go to bed."

Looking at the pile of books that had grown next to the chair, Charles reluctantly vacated his very comfortable seat.

"Do I have to go to bed?" He turned his eyes upon the King, hoping the same look that worked on his parents would work on him.

The King gave a small smile, "There will be many hours tomorrow night for you to continue reading."

Charles beamed at him. "You're the best!" he called as he ran out the room. He quickly reentered the room and the King raised his eyebrow. "Do you know the way back?" he asked.

"I do," the King said, and together they walked back.


	3. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the second night, the King was already in the library.

The second night, the King was already in the library, his feet reaching the plush rug beneath, unlike Charles'. 

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" the King asked.

Charles shook his head, thinking of waiting until next year to see these books again. "You told me I would have more time today." He began to climb onto the large chair the King sat upon, trying to see what he was reading, only to be stopped by the King's palms against his ribs.

"No," the King said.

"Why," Charles replied. "I sit on the chair when my parents read to me."

Setting him gently down, the King replied very quietly, "I am not your mother or father, and I would prefer if you would take another seat, please."

Although Charles was ill-mannered enough to ask impertinent questions to Kings and sneak away from the children's room, he was raised to be a polite young boy and abided by the King's kindly-worded request.

Settling into another seat beside the King's, Charles thought the King must want the cushiest seat all to himself because this seat was decidedly less comfortable. He struggled to find a soft spot, but gave up, deciding to look for the books he'd set aside last night that the King most certainly must have returned to their rightful place. Instead, he was surprised to see the King was reading from his very stack!

He squinted at the King, trying to discover if the King is having fun with him, or was genuinely interested in _The Horticulture of Moss and its Derivatives._

As if sensing this very line of thought, the King dryly said, "Reading this is just as slow as watching moss grow," and handed the book to Charles.

Unfortunately, it was an opinion Charles concurred with, and he asked the King, "Were you born out of an egg like other lizards?"

The King raised his eyebrows. "No, I was born just like you from my mother's womb."

Charles thought on this. "Do dragons have alphas and omegas like we do?"

The King set his thick book down, and the attention he gave to Charles made him and his thoughts and questions feel important. "Dragons compare themselves to one another by the things they treasure. And people," he added.

"You mean your hoard?"

"That's another word for it, yes."

"Well, aren't you going to tell me what it is you collect?"

"You don't know?"

"Why else would I ask?"

Erik closed his eyes. Charles wondered if it was from anger, or irritation, or something else entirely. Perhaps it was none of these things since his brow was smooth.

"Ask another question of me."

Charles frowned, and then said, "How far can you fly?"

At this, Erik grinned. "Farther than you have ever traveled. Past the eastern mountains, the plains beyond that and to the ocean. To the land of ice to the north where even my blood begins to slow and cool..." 

"One day, I would like to see that."

Sleepy-eyed, the King said, "Perhaps you will one day."


	4. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first year comes to a close and a tacit promise is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for uploading every Sunday! This spring has proved to be very busy for me. I'm hoping I'll have more time to write come June. I gotta write that sequel to "kiss me through the glass" someday!

The third night, the hearth was at its coldest. Charles did not want to leave the warmth of the large fireplace and his blankets, but tomorrow night he would be home again, and he would have no one to ask questions to, no books to read. The decision then, was easy, if not very unpleasant.

Once more, the King was there in the largest chair of the room, a book open against his knee. Charles had hoped to venture deeper into the library, down the unseen corridors full of things he did not know. But it would be rude to ignore a King.

"Good night," he said.

The King nodded and asked why he wore shoes when he had not before.

"Because my feet are cold," Charles replied. "Mother says cold toes are the worst when I try to sleep next to her."

"They are," the King agreed. He then added, "Sometimes I forget it gets so cold, I do not feel it the same way you do."

His curiosity piqued, Charles asked, "Is summer very hot for you then?"

"No. Just different. Dragons don't get cold toes."

"My mom would like that. I could bring you home with me so her feet wouldn't get cold."

The King's eyebrows rose. "I don't think she would like that. Bring her home something else other than a dragon King.

"You're her son, you would know best."

Charles' face scrunched up. "Since I'm cold, can I sit with you instead?"

A strange look settled across the King's face and he looked at the seat beside him. "Take a seat then." He takes the King up on his offer, and they read together in companionable silence.

Eventually, the King stirred and set his book upon the table marked with a grid.

"What is that?"

"Chess," the King said. He tapped the box upon the table. "There are pieces that go with it." Opening the box, he revealed playing pieces that looked smooth and beautiful. Charles left his chair and went to examine them. He picked one up, turning it over between his fingers.

"What piece is this?"

The King looked at him, his face serious. "That's the King, his wealth is only symbolic. He has little power on the board, that's what the Queen is for." He took out another piece and then knocked it over. "That's why the other player tries to kill her early."

"That sounds cruel." Then, Charles added, "Can I learn?"

"No, it is time for you to return to bed." Seeing Charles' put out expression, the King added, "Keep the piece."

The King pressed the piece into Charles' palm, and it felt very heavy. Charles looked down and saw the white piece of the king there. He frowned.

"But what about the queen?"  
  
"Perhaps you can find her, and learn to play, when you come next year." 

Charles beamed, and the smile did not leave him as he waved goodbye to the King, and not even when he returned to the children's room, now cold with the fired burned out, and certainly not as he fell asleep either.


	5. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the last night, a gift is given.

His parents' presence was tangible and ever-present in Erik's life, as if their portrait hung above his throne, and every time someone met with him, they stared into his parents' eyes and then met his. While he had been crowned king at a young age, their gaze then had been on whether he would be able to rule and what kind of ruler he would be. Once he'd attained maturity, that gaze had shifted to a different topic: when would Erik find the heart of his hoard.

Erik had shown no signs of falling love, only an interest in fleeting encounters that proved he was not gelded. Those closest to him despaired of ever seeing him in love, and Erik felt their concern across his shoulders.

The boy was unexpected. Heir to the Westchester region, he had looked like every child he had ever greeted, even with his bright eyes and his curious nature. Or, perhaps not like every other child, for who had dared to enter the library he had hoarded in memory of his parents?

The boy begins as a curiosity, and the attention he lavished upon the boy did not go unnoticed by his flight. Whether they thought the boy was an object to be added to his hoard, or Erik had taken an unnatural in the boy, each member made their thoughts on the matter clear.

"Collecting little boys now, Erik," Emma had asked, her diamond claws sharp.

"Only their interests," he had replied, hoping to set her claws aside.

"A boy is not an object one collects," Azazel had said. "Or is it something more?"

Erik gave no reply.

 

For three nights each year, the boy returned to Erik's lair for the annual hearth gathering, and each night the boy was full of just as many questions. Erik began to despair the boy's curiosity was akin to salt water -- a thirst that left him thirstier than before, but did not find himself too troubled by this thought. He indulged the boy and they settled into their respective chairs, reading until the boy was overcome by questions, and on the third night, the night before the boy departed, the King would give him another white chess piece.

"What am I supposed to do with so few pieces?" the boy had asked one year.

Erik had replied, "Find out next year." 

The boy had given a cheeky smile in return. "You miss me, don't you?"

"Do you ever run out of questions?"

"Never."

 

The last night, the boy entered the library but did not venture closer. He kept his arms behind him as he leaned against the metal door.

"Why do I still sleep in the children's room? I am older than all of them now."

Erik set his book down and thought to invite the boy near; there was something both stubborn and ugly across the boy's face. Very carefully, Erik ventured, "This is something better asked of your parents."

The ugliness across the boy's face spread, and Erik began to suspect this was an adult's understanding of the world on a face too young.

"I'm not asking them, I'm asking you."

Having never lied to the boy, he was not going to now. "It's because you haven't undergone puberty yet."

"Is my reproductive system that interesting?"

"Do you find it interesting?"

"Yes, but I think it's interesting the same way I find reading about flowers interesting. I don't see why I have to sleep with the younger children because of it."

"You will be considered a child until you present at puberty."

"Do dragons do this?"

"In a different way. We place more importance on the collection of a hoard."

The boy moved away from the door, pulling nervously at his sleeves, and Erik was relieved. He sat in his usual chair, and Erik took his book back up, but kept an eye on the boy as he drew a book from his stack. They sat together uneasily, neither of them reading.

 

Late that night, later than Erik had ever let the boy stay, the boy said, "I'm afraid."

Erik looked at him, the tight set of his shoulders, his eyes firmly planted in his book.

"Do you know anyone who would harm anything that a dragon kept safe?"

The boy shook his head. 

Erik stood and took the few steps necessary to come before the boy. He offered his hand to him, "Then come here and be unafraid."

The boy took his hand, and together they ventured further into the library than the boy had ever gone. Down the corridors of books and dragonstone and metal inlays, they went hand in hand until they reached the heart of the library.

A great staircase led below and Erik felt the boy's hesitation. Erik gave him a questioning look and then the boy squeezed Erik's larger hand back. Permission granted, Erik took the boy down to his lair.

Erik had a bedroom, a suite of many rooms with gilded windows and a large bed, but this was where Erik rested when he wished to be in his native skin. He looked behind at the boy taking in the large cavern with wide eyes, his gaze passing the series of tunnels and hallways where Erik's hoard lay.

"Close your eyes," Erik said. The boy did so, covering his eyes with his hand, but he suspected the boy would peer through his fingers to watch him change. No matter, the boy would most likely not understand the significance of what Erik was about to do, and if the boy ever spoke of it, he doubted anyone would believe him. 

As Erik slipped from one skin to the next, realization spread through Erik a cold spark from the top of his head the base of his spine. One day, he and this boy --

Charles came towards him and pressed his palm against Erik's nostrils, hot air against his palm. 

"You really are a dragon," he said. 

Erik huffed, and let the remark pass. "It's time for you to go to sleep."

Charles slept against his scales, curled against the side of Erik's belly and long tail. He had no need of blankets for the heat of Erik's blood and bone kept him warm throughout the long night. 

Erik would not see him for many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opening of this chapter was written with Robin McKinley's Deerskin in mind.


	6. iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chess pieces Charles receives in the coming years are a promise he does not understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My spring obligations are over! PHEW. In fandom news, I'm tempted to marathon Miraculous Ladybug and Chat Noir to write some Ladynoir fic. I've also written a bit more of the "kiss me through the glass" sequel, but considering it's taken me years to do it, who knows when I'll finish it.

His desk, once so large for his eight years of age, was now dwarfed. First, by his growth into the first blush of adulthood; and second, by the quantities of papers, parcels, and packages stacked atop it. From fine linens to handmade papers, Charles' desk was covered in courting queries and gifts.

He wanted none of them, of course, but there was not much an omega in his position could do but delay the inevitable and hope for the best.

Raven entered the room, arms full of more letters and presents, her mouth pressed into a severe line, and Charles knew what she said would not be good.

"I know you're trying to make the best of a terrible situation Charles. But I don't think Kurt is going to let you wait anymore. While you have to sign the papers giving your consent, I'm afraid..."

"That he'll use you against me?"

"Yes." She set the latest flux onto a chair, the desk having long since overflown to the floor and even to his bed at times. He did not sleep well with strangers' unwanted desires and promises in his bed. She bit her lip. "I can leave, but I am afraid what he'll do to you if I do that. You could run away with me."

"No. I won't see this house or its land fall into waste like that. Kurt would be a cruel lord, you know that."

"Neither the house nor the land is going to protect you from the husband he's going to choose for you. He will _ruin_ you." He isn't sure if she means his step-father or his groom-to-be, but it did not matter.

"Isn't that what he's already doing? Selling me to whomever can give him what he wants most?"

"Oh Charles..." She took him in her arms, and he wished he was not so readily accepting of her comfort, the warmth of her breast and the care she gave.

Once she had left, Charles carefully took apart the monument of desire and cold exchange upon his desk. Setting aside the many letters to the floor, he at last reached a small parcel he had left hidden at the bottom.

In the sunlight of his small room -- he had never left his child's room -- surrounded by the offers his step-father had created for himself using Charles' body as a weight of exchange, Charles takes the little thing into his hands.

Although he knows what it contains, he still takes the moment to press his fingers against the thin paper and into the hard, ridged object inside. His finger slips beneath the oddly plain wax seal easily, and he upends the envelope, letting the chess piece slip into his palm.

 

The first piece had come in the fall, just as the leaves had begun to fall, the harvest was ending, and his father being burned upon the pyre. It had been a small white pawn, and Charles held it in his fist so tightly his palms had bore the outlines of the piece for the months of mourning after his father died early in the morning. The following fall he placed a bishop into his pocket as his mother remarried.

As certain as it was that the fall brought terrible news, the pieces also came then. The other bishop, knights, pawns and rooks arrived, all from the same set that first king had come from. 

And yet, the queen had never arrived.

 

The ride to the hearth was bumpier and longer than Charles remembered. Perhaps it was different without the childish excitement, now replaced by the constant dread that sat within his stomach. He caught Raven looking at him several times throughout the journey, and Charles gave her an unconvincing smile.

She took his hand. "You don't have to do this."

"I don't have to do anything, but I will."

Her eyebrows met. "One day that attitude will bring you trouble." She said no more on the journey.

When they arrived, they parted ways at Charles' insistence.

"The king will do me no harm," he murmured. 

"Those were the recollections of a child," she replied.

"Then trust me, Raven. Go make sure my things are not mishandled."

Displeased by his direction, she still left to do as he asked. He feels a little guilty sending Raven away, but some things must be faced alone.

As Charles entered the hall he was struck how different it was without the festival. The great home was empty, only the quiet sussurations of the workers. A servant greeted him, and left Charles upon the entrance to his suite. He took in the space and breadth of it -- an entire suite of rooms! -- so much larger than his children's room, and was embarrassed to realize his awe had caused him to entirely ignore the king waiting in a chair.

The king looked much the same, and Charles wondered if it was because he was a dragon, and dragons did not weather time as he did. Clothed in ordinary garb, Charles wondered how he would have felt to have such a suitor waiting upon his doorstep under different circumstances. Even so --

In the king's hand was the key to what lay beyond the waiting room, rooms the king may well have tidied himself. Charles drew near and took the key carefully.

"I wasn't sure you would come," the king said.

Charles quirked an eyebrow. "Surely you know you were my best prospect."

"Glowing praise of my temperament to be the better choice of buyers."

"Why did you offer?"

"Because you were in need." Charles tried hard to search the king's face, but could find nothing behind his wide eyes.

"I was a child when I saw you last, doesn't that bother you?"

The king inclined his head, staying very still on the couch. "It does. And yet, I did enjoy our time together. I hope you did too."

After a silence, Erik continued, "Why did you accept?"

"You once told me no one would harm what a dragon has."

Erik nodded.

"Is it still true? Would you give me that?"

"Give you what Charles?"

"Safety."

Erik nodded once again.

"Then I accept your proposal. No need to give suit." He began playing with the key in his hand.

"Would you come to dinner?"

"No, thank you."

Charles opened his door, and was glad Erik did not follow.

But later that night, he found himself retracing the steps to the library. Odd, that despite the years, he still remembered the way. He rested his hand against the door for a moment, and then went inside.


	7. v.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Charles does not know what to make of his situation, perhaps he has made a tender sort of trust with the king.

The library had not changed much since he'd last seen it. The room was still lit by dragonstone, and its walls still lined with books. New to his eyes were the rugs that made him want to slip out of his shoes and the addition of a loveseat and pillows.

Toeing at the heel of his shoe, he approached the stand where the chess set had last rested. It was still there, black pieces all lined up and the white queen left alone. He took the queen into his hands and examined her shape and crown. He was tempted to place her in his pocket and take her to join the rest of her comrades, but instead placed her where the king should've rested.

A book shut loudly behind him, and there was the king sitting with his ankle thrown across his knee.

"Would you like me to leave?" he inquired.

"It's your library, do you want me to go?"

"No."

Charles pulled away from the king and his heavy gaze. Turning his back to the king, he traced the spines of the book with the pads of his fingers. "I'm surprised I remembered the way here."

"Some things the body remembers -- and you are always welcome here."

Charles pulled _A Beginner's Guide to Orchids_ from its space next to _Orchids: A Love Story_ , and flipped through the pages, settling on the table of contents.

"You are also welcome to read here anytime you wish," the king added.

It was an odd moment, realizing all his past journeys to this library had been illicit and that he should have asked first.

He faced the king now, looking to the left of his shoulder. "Your Majesty, I didn't realize..."

Something shuttered on the king's face and then opened once more. "Please, call me Erik, if you are comfortable with it."

"I imagine very little is comfortable for me now. My position rests on keeping your favor."

"I would not -- "

Wanting to both change the topic of conversation -- who would be glad to discuss the circumstances of their precarious and terrible stay? -- and read the books once again, Charles took the furthest seat from him and began reading. For all his ignorance of trespassing in a dragon's domain, even he knew it was a poor idea to take something from its place in a dragon's hoard, even one as minor as this one. But Charles had so missed the opportunity of reading new things; he had long read all the books in his home and the only new books he had read were those Raven was able to occasionally smuggle. The discomfort of the king's company was a small price to pay for access to these books once more.

As he fell into the text, he was able to forget the king -- Erik? -- also rested nearby, until the king asked him once more to dinner.

"Is it necessary to keep your favor?" Charles asked.

"No. My favor is yours as long as you need or want it."

"I wish it were that easy for me," Charles replied. He put his book away and left, knowing the king was still searching for the right words to say.

 

Charles wanted to avoid the library and its king who was always there, but here he was again in the Dragon King's library. From his pockets he took out piece after piece and set them back upon the board. The compulsion to put them back had seemed foolish, and yet his mind kept returning to that lone white queen on the board, and he could not leave her alone there.

"So you did keep them."

Charles began to wonder how the king was always here when Charles was and if the king ever even left the library. It was an absurd idea, but Charles wondered if ever he would be able to explore this library alone.

But he also felt he owed it to the king to tell him how important those pieces had been.

"After my mother died," _and before I met Raven_ , "the pieces you sent me were my only hope that there was more than the four walls my family placed around me." He wanted to say more, to tell him how much he had looked forward to those pieces -- both a reminder and a promise someone remembered he existed in those years his ability to travel were so limited. "Why haven't you asked me why I never came back before?"

The King paused and placed his thumb atop a rook. "I had heard unkind things about your new father, and did not think more needed to be said. And you did not write me either."

Charles nodded. "My step-father carefully monitors my correspondence. I could've sent Raven, but I was -- am -- selfish, and wanted to keep her near me." _I didn't want to be alone_ , and if he was to spend the foreseeable future with the king, he wanted to make the best of the situation.

Charles nervously moved a pawn. "You told me you would teach me to play when I am older. Now that I am old enough to be your engaged, I think I am old enough." He looked to the king. 

Nodding, the king said, "Then let us play. Sit down -- You know the name of the pieces yes? That's the pawn and --"

After the game, which takes only half as long as the king's explanations with Charles' questions, the king tells him, "You should not protect your queen so much." Charles had lost most of his pieces very quickly in an attempt to save his queen.

"That's not a bad thing," he insisted. But then Charles was struck once more with a pang of honesty he wished he could ignore. During the course of their game, Charles feet had come free of their shoes, and he dug his toes into the soft carpet. "I wanted to learn to play because it sounded cruel that the queen should die and no one tried to save her for her own worth."

"You are soft-hearted." The words were sharp, but the look upon his face was gentle, and Charles found himself at a loss. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation during dinner?"

"What if you took dinner in my suite?" Charles thought of the small dining room in his suites -- and quite far from the more intimate spaces of his suite. He felt more comfortable away from the main dining hall, full of visiting nobles and bustling servants, the expectation of performance.

"I would like that," the king replied. "Shall we?" He extended his hand, and Charles pushed past the nervousness in his belly and took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks. :) Had this been a longer fic, this would've been end of Part I. In Part II, Raven turns out to be a shapeshifter of some sort like Azazel. Charles grows a wall full of orchids in Erik's library, in front of the window that reaches its ceiling. And Erik continues to ask Charles to dine with him. Eventually, at some point, Charles leaves the hearth and the story would close with him returning back to Erik.


End file.
